


Refuge

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Absent Parents, Abusive Parents, Bad Parenting, Caretaking, Child Abuse, Crowley being nice to kids, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 07:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: Crowley never bothered to meet his neighbors...until his neighbors need his help, that is.





	Refuge

Crowley never really paid his neighbors much attention.

Many of them couldn’t thrive in the penthouse alongside all of his demonic energy, so he never bothered getting to know them or asking them to tea or whatever it was humans did that was customary when you lived next door to them. So, naturally, he didn’t pay any mind when a young family moved into the flat above him.

One night, Crowley was dozing in his chair, tipsy but not drunk after a fair bit of wine, just enjoying the stillness of the late hour when all of a sudden, a crash, a scream, and resultant shouting startled him into full consciousness.

Crowley leapt out of his chair, straining to listen. It sounded like the couple upstairs were fighting. Nothing new. Some humans ended up with other humans who hated their guts and stayed anyway for a variety of reasons. Crowley couldn’t hear the words being said, but, judging by the strong miasma he could sense, they weren’t very nice words.

Crowley decided he would go give the couple a piece of his mind, seeing as the hour was one at which humans did sleep, and he had technically been sleeping, if only half so, when he heard footsteps running down the stairs and stopping outside his flat. The doorbell rang, and Crowley stalked over there, ready to start shouting…

Except all of his rather choice words fell away when he saw exactly who was standing on his doorstep.

A little boy and a little girl, both about six, were huddled together, holding hands. They seemed shaken up, and Crowley could smell the remnants of the miasma coming from the flat above clinging to them like cigarette smoke on clothing. Anger began to crawl up his back again. It was one thing for two adults to be fighting incessantly. It was another thing entirely to bring young children into it.

The little boy looked up and found his voice first. “Hi, sir. Um. Sorry to bother you, but…” He squeezed the little girl’s hand, and Crowley heard her sniffle. “My sister scarped her arm, and there aren’t any band-aids in our bathroom. Could we…?”

“Come in,” Crowley stepped aside, allowing the children entry. “Go have a seat on the sofa there. I’ll fetch some supplies.” He walked into the bathroom and miracled some first aid stuff, namely rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and an assortment of bandages. The amount of fear coming from the children was palpable, and as he walked back to where they were, he noticed it hung over them like a thick fog.

Now, Crowley may have been a demon, it was true, but he had standards. He never liked seeing harm come to children, and he avoided doing anything that would seriously effect children, no matter how small of a misdeed it was. The shouting and banging was still loud in the flat above, so Crowley snapped his fingers and music began to play from his television, helping at least to drown out some of the noise and hopefully making the children feel more at ease.

He knelt before them, smiling kindly. “My name is Crowley,” he said. “What are your names?”

He could tell the children were struggling to maintain their composure, and for the little girl, at least, it seemed to be a losing battle, for she kept sobbing quietly. “I’m Jordan,” the little boy said. “That’s Jessica.”

“Oh,” Crowley replied. “Twins, right?” Jordan nodded. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to Jessica. “Can I see your arm?”

Jessica held out the arm she’d been cradling against her side. One hell of a scratch mark was present, red and irritated and bleeding just a bit. Crowley admired the girl’s bravery; most children would have been sobbing uncontrollably by now. “All right,” he said, reaching for the rubbing alcohol. “Not too bad.” He took a few clean cotton balls and held them to the top of the battle, tipping it forward until the cotton balls were damp. “This is going to sting a little,” he warned, gently dabbing it against the cut. The little girl winced, ducking her face into her brother’s shoulder, her blonde curls the only thing visible. When that was done, Crowley took some dry cotton balls and wiped off any excess moisture around the wound, peeling open a large band-aid and pressing it over the cut. “There,” he said. “All done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jordan said, managing a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley replied dismissively. There was a scream from upstairs and the sound of breaking glass, and the two children let out aborted cries and huddled together. “You’d better wait until your parents have calmed down,” he said, standing up. “Are you hungry? Did you have dinner yet?” 

The children’s silence answered that for him. “Right, then,” Crowley said, his hands on his hips. “Why don’t I make you some tea and some peanut butter sandwiches?”

“Jessica can’t have that,” Jordan said. “She’s allergic.”

“Grilled cheese, then?” Crowley suggested. The children nodded. “All right then, coming up! You two can use my TV if you’d like. Remote’s on my desk. Just don’t put your feet on my chair.

“Yes sir!” The children chorused, and it was nice to know Jessica had a voice.

Crowley miracled up some grilled cheese and prepared tea in his kettle to kill time. He was loathe to send the children back at all, for it was like letting them wander into a den of hungry lions, but there wasn’t much he could do. He supposed he could call a social worker, though he had a feeling that might make it worse for the children. He sighed. Well, at least he could feed them and help break them away from the negativity surrounding them. No wonder the family was perfectly at home here; there was enough evil attached to them to keep a demon well-fed for centuries! Not that he was planning on taking advantage of their misery, mind you. Ever since he learned that he could eat food to regain energy, a lesson he was taught by Aziraphale, he didn’t feed on misery anymore, because he didn’t need to. Besides, he wasn’t going to do that to innocent children, take pleasure from their suffering. He had never been that kind of demon, and he was certainly not about to start now!

When the tea was finished, he poured two mugs full, and added in plenty of milk and sugar, the same kind of tea he often made for Aziraphale. He had a feeling the children might take their tea the same way. 

When he brought out their food and drinks on a little tray, he saw they were sitting on the floor watching a channel that played retro cartoons 24 hours a day. “That can’t be comfortable,” he tsked. “Here, I’ll get some pillows for you.” He walked to the living room and returned with two freshly miracled pillows with gothic patterns that suited his taste. He plopped them on the floor and the children clamored onto them eagerly, sipping their tea and watching cartoons whilst eating their sandwiches. Crowley sat on his desk and watched them, their laughter and the fading aura were all the thanks he needed.

When things were quiet upstairs, he turned the TV off. “I think you’d better get back before your parents miss you,” he said kindly, but regretfully. He didn’t want them to go…but they couldn’t stay here. 

Jessica yawned and Jordan nodded. They both got up off the floor and brushed the crumbs off themselves. Crowley might have been annoyed, but he was intending on miracling the mess away anyway. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jessica said politely, smiling.

“Yeah, we appreciate it,” Jordan said, yawning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley replied, walking them to the door. He waited in his doorway until they were out of sight but, he noticed, that as soon as they reached the landing, Jessica peeled the band-aid off her arm.

Crowley sighed and, after making sure their parents were miracled fast asleep, he returned to his desk and ran his fingers through his hair.

Oh evil Satan, what had he gotten himself into now?

~

Jordan and Jessica soon became part of Crowley’s routine. Not every night, thank goodness, but on some nights, Crowley would hear a commotion from the flat above, footsteps on the stairs, and then his doorbell without fail. He’d accumulated a fair amount of items to keep the children distracted; board games, movies, treats that Jessica was allowed to have. (The children had told him of a nut-free chocolate their mother used to get for them from America, so of course, he miracled that up for them.) He was long past the point of “going soft” for them, as a fondness began to enter his heart whenever the children were nearby. The only other time he felt so happy was with Aziraphale, so he considered this to be a good thing, even if it was ruining his demonic reputation just a bit. 

One night, however, the miasma was worse than ever. So much so that Crowley, to whom the smell was actually as delightful as a favored meal, was on edge all evening, just waiting for things to explode. And when they did, he was prepared. 

The children were crying as they ran down the stairs. Crowley opened the door for them, ushering them inside. “Come on, come on!” He whispered, drawing them into the safety of his flat. He hadn’t seen them in a week, and things looked bad. They were both wearing long sleeves, and Crowley could see, as Jessica scratched her arm, that she was covered in bruises, and he could only assume Jordan was, too. The twins were holding each other, curled tightly into the corner of Crowley’s sofa, hiding under a throw blanket he’d miracled into existence last time they were here. This explosion was taking place much later at night than usual; the twins looked tired and sleep-mussed. Crowley put on some Mozart and knelt before them, checking them over. Unlike Aziraphale, he couldn’t do anything to heal any serious injuries; demons were meant to break, not mend, but he could still sense grievous injuries. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Crowley fussed. The first question was relative; he knew they were not okay mentally.

The twins shook their heads, cowering as a loud bang sounded from above. Like furniture was being thrown around…or a person was being thrown around. Crowley shuddered. “It’s okay,” he tried to reassure them, gently running his hand along their backs. “It’s all right. You’re safe here. I won’t let him hurt you.” Truth be told, behind his ever-present sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes were large and serpentine. He was furious, though doing his best to keep it inside, lest he add to the negative atmosphere already here. How could anyone hurt children?! It was beyond him. And it made him feel guilty for not getting some kind of authority involved sooner. He resolved to do so, once things calmed down. 

Eventually, the adrenaline and fear wore the twins down, and they fell asleep. Crowley bundled them up and carried them both as best as he could to his bedroom. (It was hard to carry two six year olds at once, but he managed, barely.) Once there, he set them down on his unused bed (he did like sleeping, but he hadn’t slept in weeks, worried for the children) and miracled another blanket into being, settling it across both of them. 

Crowley looked down at the two children with pity, running his hands through their blonde hair and watching them breathe peacefully. His mind was made up: he wouldn’t make the children go back tonight. They needed their sleep, and they needed his protection. 

Crowley closed his bedroom door, making it soundproof, and sauntered to his desk, flopping down in his chair, listening to the drone of the chaos far above his head.

~

Crowley was startled awake by the doorbell in his flat ringing repeatedly. He jumped up and went to go get the door.

The man standing at his doorstep looked like a bodybuilder. He was half-dressed, an undershirt covering his body and trousers and shoes on his lower half. He was red-faced and angry. Crowley noted that the sun was just rising up over the tops of the buildings; morning, then. “What have you done with my children?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley answered smugly.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” the man growled. “I know Jordan and Jessica ran off down here and I know they’re in here somewhere! Now, what have you done to them, you sick freak?”

Crowley snorted. “I? I’m the sick freak?! You’re the one beating them black and blue! They came here seeking my help, because you’re a monster!”

“You can’t prove any of that,” the man snapped. “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way to arrest you.”

As if, thought Crowley. “Good!” He snapped. “They’ll hear my side of the story.”

“Where are they?” The man roared, shoving Crowley into the doorframe and stalking off into his flat. “Jordan! Jessica! Get out here this instant!” 

Crowley groaned, his head and spine aching from the force of the man’s push. It made him feel doubly awful for the children; if he, an immortal demon, had felt the force of that push, surely they’d feel it ten times over. As the man was going for the bedroom, Crowley ran across the room and put himself between the man and the door. “Don’t you dare go in there,” he snarled. “Don’t you dare wake them up.”

“I swear to God, mate, if you laid a finger on them, I’ll—!” 

“What’s going on here?”

The man and the demon looked over towards the door. Two cops in uniform were standing in the doorway of Crowley’s flat. 

The man relaxed. “Ah, gentleman,” he smiled kindly. “This sick fiend has lured my children into his home! I have reason to believe he might be harming them.”

“Sir, is this true?” The policemen asked. 

Crowley shrugged, stepping away from the door. “The children came to my flat last night of their own free will, terrified after hearing their parents fighting. They fell asleep on my couch, so I moved them to my bed. I slept on the couch last night.” He held up his hands. “I swear, I didn’t touch them inappropriately.”

“That your bedroom door, sir?” Crowley nodded. “May we see?”

“Certainly.” Crowley opened the door. Inside, Jordan and Jessica were still fast asleep.

“My angels,” The man declared. “You see what he’s done to them! Posed like that on the bed! I bet he was taking pictures and jerking off—!”

“I’ll thank you not to make accusations about me in my own home,” Crowley growled.

As the policemen uncovered the children, they started to wake up, rubbing their eyes and yawning. Jessica was the first to wake up, and she looked confused, her eyes flitting over all of the adults in the room. When they found her father, she shrunk back into the blankets, trembling.

“See? She’s terrified of him!” The man gesticulated wildly. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“She appears to be looking at you, sir,” The policeman said, before smiling at the two. “Hello. I’m Sergeant Stone, and this is Sergeant Baker. What are your names?”

“Jessica.”

“Jordan.”

The children were clinging to each other, watching their father nervously.

“Can you tell my friend and I what happened last night?”

“Just tell the truth,” Crowley whispered in a voice only the children could hear. “I’ll protect you. Tell the truth.”

It seemed for a long time, the children were conflicted. They were probably taught a story to tell police and other authority figures, just like Jordan had made up the scrape story for Jessica the night he’d first met them. But Crowley could influence the world around him. On a smaller scale than Adam, surely, but it came in handy at times like this. 

“Um,” Jessica stammered. “We…we were asleep, and…”

“We heard daddy yelling at mummy,” Jordan continued. 

“Mister Crowley, he lets us come play in his flat until mummy and daddy calm down,” Jessica said, smiling at Crowley shyly. Crowley smiled back.

“We were scared.” Jordan explained. “Daddy was banging a lot, throwing the chairs around and at mummy. We didn’t know what to do.”

“I started crying,” Jessica admitted. “Jordan told me to stop, but then we heard daddy hit mummy, and he started crying, too.” She sniffled, her hands wringing the edges of the blanket together.

“We came to Mister Crowley’s flat,” Jordan said, looking at his lap. “We didn’t know what to do, but Mister Crowley is always nice to us, so we thought…”

“Lies!” The man cried out. “All lies! They’re making it up.” He smiled at the children. “Be good for daddy and tell the nice policemen the truth.”

The police ignored him and looked at the children. “Can you roll up your sleeves for me, Jessica?” Sergeant Stone asked. “Jordan, you too.”

The children hesitated, looking at their dad and then at Crowley. Crowley nodded. Tell the truth.

The twins rolled up their sleeves. Crowley felt like an arrow had gone straight through his chest. As he’d suspected, the twins were black and blue. He’d never admit it, but tears began to form at the corner of his eyes. He had never been happier to know a man was going to Hell.

“Did Mister Crowley do this to you?” The police asked.

The children shook their heads.

“Who did?”

“Daddy.” Jordan said quietly. Jessica nodded.

“All right, Sergeant Baker,” Sergeant Stone said, “Book ‘im.”

~

A social worker showed up soon afterwards to pick up the children.

“Bye, Mister Crowley,” Jessica hugged Crowley tightly, and Crowley bent down to return it. Jordan joined her in the hug.

“Thank you,” he said.

Crowley smiled. “You’re welcome.” He looked up at the social worker. “They’ll be in good hands?”

“The very best.”

“Good.” Crowley stood up, producing a business card from inside his jacket. “If you need a statement or anything.”

“Thank you.” The social worker smiled. “Come along, children.”

Months later, Crowley received a letter in the mail. Jordan and Jessica had been placed in a loving foster home and were very happy, healthy, and adjusting well. 

The letter came with several crude drawings done in crayon. Crowley would deny having them to this day, tucked into one of the drawers in his desk.

**Author's Note:**

> Eh...?
> 
> I needed more Crowley and children because I dunno. Who DOESN'T need that, am I right?


End file.
